


The Last Word

by clgfanfic, JodyNorman



Series: The Legacy [12]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:42:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JodyNorman/pseuds/JodyNorman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A horrible nightmare plagues Blair as he waits for his dissertation defense date to arrive. . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Word

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Sensory Overload #5
> 
> In order to truly get the point of this story, it's best if you read the author's names aloud. :)
> 
> I am not the author of this story, but in my shared universe, I accept it as true. The author's true name is clgfanfic

**by Ben Thayer & Don Thatt**

 

          "That's it," Jim growled, throwing back the blankets and climbing out of bed. He paused long enough to pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt, then padded down the loft stairs and crossed to the door of Sandburg's room.

          He paused with his hand on the doorknob, his super-acute hearing picking up the shift from nightmare to wakefulness. After a deep breath, he tapped lightly on the door, then opened it just far enough to lean in and ask, "Hey, Chief, you okay?"

          A shaky inhalation that sounded far from "okay" was the first reply, then a mumbled, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm all right."

          Jim pushed the door open and stepped inside the cluttered room. Blair was sitting up in the middle of his bed, his shoulders sagging, his head bowed. "All right?" he echoed softly. "This is the fifth night in a row you've had nightmares. I don't call that all right."

          The Sentinel heard Sandburg puff in annoyance. He didn't like getting caught, but that was just too damned bad. Something was going on and he wasn't going to back down until he found out what it was. He might not tell Sandburg, but he did care about the younger man – a lot.

Jim used his enhanced night vision to maneuver the minefield of books and various stacks of paper that littered the bedroom floor, picking his way carefully to an empty chair sitting pulled out from an equally cluttered desk. He sat down. "Come on, Sandburg. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell's wrong."

Blair sighed heavily, then moaned, "It's this damned defense, man, it's driving me crazy!"

"Defense?"

Another deep breath, then: "My dissertation defense. Okay, look, this is how the process works," Sandburg explained, slipping into his professor voice without even realizing it, "I finally forced myself to finish writing the damned dissertation."

Blair paused like he expected Jim to say something, but the detective was completely clueless about what that "something" should be. Ellison opted for, "And you did finish it, I remember you telling me you did. That's a good thing, right?"

"Right," Sandburg replied immediately. "Well, sort of. I mean, I finished it, just in time, since they wanted ten days ahead of time to look it over for edits; and I still needed that last bit of data from that book I had to order through Interlibrary loan, and that came in at the last minute, so they only had a week, but it was done, it just wasn't finished."

"Come again?" Jim asked, rubbing the back of his neck. He honestly hadn't understood a single word Sandburg had just said – but then he was speaking advanced academic, a foreign language as far as the detective was concerned. This wasn't going to be nearly as easy as he'd hoped.

"Well, I mean I _was_ done – three days later than I should've been – but done. But then I gave the draft copies to my dissertation committee members."

Another pause. Jim sighed silently. "And?" he urged, wishing he had an interpreter.

"They _all_ had things they wanted me to change, or fix, or expand, or address. All of them, and two of them aren't even in my home department – jeeze! Everybody's got an agenda these days, I'll telling you."

Ellison's brow wrinkled in sleep-deprived confusion. "I thought you told me that they were supposed to do that – uh, make some kind of comments, right? It was those people, right?"

"Yeah, right!" Blair said, his expression lightening. "Hey, that's pretty good, Jim. I didn't think you were listening. I–"

"So what's the problem?" Ellison sighed. Sometimes getting Sandburg to get to a point was like trying to get a Marine to wear pumps.

"Well, like, I knew that they'd have _some_ comments," Blair said, picking up like he hadn't even been interrupted, "I mean, that _is_ what they're supposed to do, but they all had more than I expected. And Dr. Amanersan was so damned nit-picky! That's why I was holed up in here for almost a week! I only had a week – a week, man, you know how fast a week goes? – to address _all_ of their comments – and some of them were coming at the same ideas from _completely_ different theoretical directions, so I couldn't really find a compromise – and get a new draft back to them so they'd have another week to look _that_ version over before the actual defense!"

"And that's giving you nightmares?" Jim asked as calmly as he could. The explanation was definitely going to give _him_ nightmares.

"What? That? No, I mean, I got that final draft done, that's all done."

Another pause. Ellison was starting to hate those pauses. "So what _is_ the problem, Chief?" he asked, his voice taking a little more of an edge than he intended.

Blair's head dipped, then shook. "Man, it's the _defense_. The waiting's driving me nuts!"

Jim drew in a deep breath and silently counted to ten before he asked, "Waiting for the defense is giving you nightmares? That's it?"

Sandburg's head came up. "That's it? That's it? Nightmares? Man, I wish they were _just_ nightmares. These are– are– are _so_ worse than nightmares, man!"

"Why don't you tell me about them," Jim half-growled. "Maybe that'll make them go away."

Sandburg's cheeks puffed with embarrassment. "I don't think so, Jim. You'd think I'm crazy."

 _I already do, Sandburg…_ "No–"

"Okay, look," he interrupted, "I keep having the same crazy dream – night after night after night. A crazy-crazy dream. I mean, it's _impossible_. Can't happen, man. No way, no how, no possible exception. It's just not possible, you know? It's crazy!"

Jim cocked his head to the side, hoping to urge the man on, then realized that Sandburg probably couldn't even see him in the darkness. "How crazy?" he asked with a sigh.

"Okay… yeah… yeah, let me just tell you some of the high points."

"That would be nice," Ellison sighed again, rubbing his left temple in a futile attempt to ward off the threatening headache.

"Okay, so first, can you believe this? First I send a copy of my dissertation to Naomi," the graduate student snorted.

"But… I thought you did send Naomi a copy," Jim countered, his expression even more confused.

"I did," Blair replied, then realized that Jim wasn't following. "No, no, it's not that I _sent_ her a copy–"

"But you just said–"

"Jim, come on, man, let me tell this, okay?"

Ellison silently counted to ten again, then added eleven and twelve. "Yeah. Go on."

"Okay, so, in this freakin' dream I send Naomi a copy of my dissertation and you know what she does with it?"

Another pause. Ellison's teeth ground. "No, I don't know what she did with it. Why don't you tell me what she did with it."

"She sent it to a publisher! Can you believe that?"

Yet another of those damned annoying pauses. "I guess so," Jim ventured. "She's want you to get all the recognition–"

"No, man, no," Blair countered his gestures becoming more and more animated as he continued. "Look, first off, Naomi would _never_ do that without my permission, but – get this, man, talk about crazy – I used your _real name_ in the dissertation!"

Jim's eyebrows arched in surprise. "You didn't use my name?"

"What?" Blair snapped, glaring daggers at Ellison through the darkness. The detective had to fight the impulse to dive under the desk for cover. "Are you _crazy_ , man?" he demanded, his fingers curling into the blankets and shaking them fiercely. "Do you know what the Human Subjects Committee would do to me if I did that? What my committee members would do? Christ, Jim, I might as well just shoot myself in the gut, it'd be a whole lot less painful! No way, man. No _fucking_ way. No real names. I'd _never_ work in academe again! There is no fucking way I'd use your real name, never, never, never!"

"What did you do?" Jim asked, his own curiosity getting the better of him.

"You're referred to as 'Burnett' through the whole thing! The _whole_ thing! Like I'd just _forget_ something like that? Hell, I couldn't even use your real name in my damned fieldnotes! My dream-self is a real idiot, man, a class-A idiot! It took me almost a whole year to get my proposal past that damned committee! I swear, Jim, they're all reincarnated members of the freakin' Inqusition! So there's no way Jose that I'd use your real name in anything! _Ever!_ "

"Burnett?" Jim wondered aloud, wondering why in the world Sandburg would have picked that. He could almost feel the blush that colored the younger man's cheeks.

"Uh, it's, uh, from a TV show I used to watch."

"A TV show?"

"And – get this, man – then the publisher Naomi sent the fucked-up dissertation to _publishes_ the damn thing!" Sandburg howled, shaking the blankets again while neatly sidestepping Ellison's question. "They _publish_ it! Yeah, right, like _that's_ gonna happen on _this_ planet? _Not!_ They'd send me edits, and then more edits, and then some more edits! And then there'd be galleys, and– and– and it just _doesn't_ happen like that! It just doesn't! No, no, no, no! It's, like, sooo stupid! I've gotta be going nuts to have a dream like this!"

Sandburg stopped and dropped the blankets, which Jim was surprised hadn't been shaken into tattered rags. Ellison waited a moment, then asked, "So this dream that's been keeping you and me up for five nights running is about you giving your dissertation to Naomi, her giving it to a publisher, and them publishing it."

"Yeah," Blair sighed heavily. "It's terrifying! Total mind-warp, man."

"But isn't that what most people want?" Jim asked, now totally confused. "Getting published, I mean."

"No!" Blair bellowed, beating his fists on the mattress. "Don't you see? Didn't you hear me? In the dream I used your _real_ name! Your real _name!_ It's like the whole world suddenly knew you were a Sentinel! Shazam! Jim Ellison revealed! Welcome to the world of the _National Register_!"

Jim's eyes rounded. "Oh, okay, I see," he said. "And then I shoot you and you wake up, right?"

"Oh, man, I only _wish_ that's the way the dream went!"

"What else could happen?"

Blair shook his head, then flopped back onto the bed with a groan. "Oh, man, it's all so damned ridiculous. I have to leave school – hell, they should've kicked my sorry ass out if I'd used your real name!. Renounce my research – like _that's_ going to happen in the real world! I end up having to become a cop – like _that's_ going to happen in _my_ lifetime? Go to the police academy – just draft my sorry ass and send me to– to– wherever-ville." He paused for a moment, then added in a wail, "They cut off all of my hair, man! _All_ of it! Uncle Fester time!" He moaned loudly, his head rolling from side to side like a man caught in a fever delirium. "Why can't this just be _over?_ "

"When _will_ it be over?" Jim asked, starting to seriously worry about his Guide's sanity.

"The day after tomorrow!" was the lamentation.

"So we have one more night of this, huh?" Jim asked with a long sigh.

Blair sat back up and shook his head, his whole posture radiating defeat. "I'm sorry, Jim. I really am. I didn't think I'd get so– so _freaked out_ about all this, but I guess I am…" He trailed off.

Ellison paused a moment, then said, "Important. It's important. It's normal to worry about something important."

Blair nodded. "Yeah, it is. But this isn't worried, it's– I don't know what it is, but it's bad. I've been working on this for so long. It's supposed to be my life's work and my subconscious is treating it like the plot from some really _bad_ TV show. If the blasted fellowship hadn't run out I would've waited another couple of semesters, but no money–"

"Blair, it'll be fine," Jim offered.

"I just know my committee's going to come up with–"

"Chief, stop borrowing trouble," Ellison scolded. "Do they know more about Sentinels than you do?"

Blair thought a moment, then admitted, "No."

"Then what're you worrying about?

"I don't know!" he moaned in reply. "I just want it to be over! It's like the whole freakin' process is set up to make you think you don't know anything, but you do know something, but they can't just tell you you know something, they have to make you think you don't know anything until they get you in the actual defense and you find out that you do know something, because they obviously don't know anything about what you've just spent four of five years studying, then _they_ admit that you know something and – bang! – you know something and they know you know it and you know you know it, but until you know it then you don't know anything."

Jim sat, his jaw slack. He almost understood what his Guide had said, but he didn't have a clue how he'd managed to get it all out in one breath. "Chief, why don't you try some of those deep breathing exercises you keep trying to force me to do? You've gotta relax or you're going to blow a gasket."

"I _did!_ They didn't work."

Ellison grinned. "Come on, relax. Get some sleep and stop worrying. You did everything right. Day after tomorrow you'll dazzle them with your brilliance and it'll be all over."

Blair moaned again. "Man, nothing's ever got me this wired! Why? Am I doubting myself? I mean, how much do I really know?"

 _Oh, no, not again with the who-knows-what!_ Jim stood and walked over to the bed. Reaching out, he patted Blair's shoulder. "If it helps any, _I_ know you'll do fine at your defense."

A groan was the only reply. Then Sandburg told Jim about the dream all over again, adding even more "ridiculous" details. All the detective could do was sit and listen, but that was really a small price to pay given all that Sandburg had done for him over the last few years. Not that he was going to tell Blair that!

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim Ellison leaned against the wall and glanced down the hallway of the old university building, watching a pretty young woman as she exited a room and headed for the double glass doors at the end of the passage. Then his attention snapped back to the conversation he'd been listening to for almost two hours. Blair was holding his own, at least as far as the detective could tell.

He grinned slightly. Sandburg had been so nervous that morning that he'd refused to eat or drink anything. Now the Sentinel could hear the younger man's stomach rumbling softly.

He checked his watch – two hours and fifteen minutes. How long did these defense things last? He was getting hungry himself, and he really wanted a cup of tea.

Pushing off the wall, Jim paced the hallway, his concentration focused on keeping his hearing tuned on the Sandburg channel. He didn't want to miss anything being said in that room. Not that he understood even a fraction of what Sandburg and the other professors in the room were talking about. But one thing was abundantly clear; Blair Sandburg was one smart man. He answered each question in detail, tossing out names and places and studies like a damned computer. Ellison shook his head. Sandburg had even mentioned research and theories from at least a half-dozen other academic fields besides anthropology. It was almost frightening.

And it was damned odd to hear all of them talking about some guy called "Burnett" and know that they were really talking about him. Worse still, they talked about his Sentinel abilities like they were normal! He shook his head. Academics; he'd never really understand them.

He paced some more, cringing when Sandburg suddenly headed off on a tangent that included fairy tales, some ancient religious texts and something about wine tasters. And then there was the sound of chairs scraping on the carpet. He stopped, still waiting, listening.

A moment later Blair stepped out into the hall. He met Jim's eyes and walked over to join the detective, his shoulders hunched, his hands shoved deep into his pant pockets.

"All done?" Ellison asked hopefully.

"No," Blair said, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. "Now they talk amongst themselves and decide if I passed or not."

Jim's eyes narrowed slightly as he started to concentrate on the conversation beginning to pick up in the room.

"No, uh-huh, no way, man," Blair said, grabbing Jim's arm and leading him a little further down the hall. "Don't you dare listen in on them. That's supposed to be a _private_ conversation."

"Don't you want to know–?"

"I'll know soon enough," he interrupted. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and shook them, then his arms and shoulders. "Man, I hate waiting."

"It sounded like you did good."

Sandburg shrugged. "I don't know. I think so, but… I had to replace two of my committee members at the last minute. They aren't as familiar with my work, or the literature–"

"Blair," Jim interrupted. He nodded to the door.

Sandburg looked. Dr. Morrison opened the door and leaned out to check the hall. "Okay, Blair, come on in," he said.

Sandburg took a deep breath, then squared his shoulders and walked back to the room and entered, stomach still grumbling.

Fifteen minutes Blair stepped back into the hall and Jim was standing there to greet him, his hand extended. Sandburg accepted the proffered hand.

"Congratulations, _Doctor_ Sandburg," Jim said, pumping his Guide's hand.

Blair grinned. "I can't believe it's over." He shook his head. "You're still coming with me to the post-defense party, right?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Jim said. Besides, he liked the burgers they served at the bar Sandburg had picked for his "bash". Of course, being surrounded by a bunch of professors and graduate students would probably wear pretty thin pretty quick. Well, he could bug out after he toasted Sandburg and ate lunch. He grinned. Tonight Blair would get a _real_ party, compliments of the detectives from Major Crimes.

"What?" Blair asked.

"I'm proud of you, Chief," Jim replied honestly.

Sandburg blushed. "I'm just glad it's over."

"No more crazy dreams?"

Blair shook his head. "No. Absolutely not." He grinned back. "Wouldn't you like to know who's sitting up there someplace, scripting our dreams?" he asked as they started down the hall.

Jim shook his head. "I thought someone said it was our subconscious."

"Maybe," Blair replied. "Naomi used to tell me it was the Sandman. But no one could've come up with something like that nightmare."

Jim chuckled softly. "Oh, I don't know, I've seen some stuff on the tube that's at least as crazy as your dream was... You, a detective? That fast?" He snorted and shook his head.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. TV never gets anything right. Maybe the Sandman's moonlighting as a script writer."

Jim chuckled again and he wrapped his arm around Sandburg's shoulders. "The important thing is – it's over. Now we can get back to normal."

Blair nodded. "Can't happen soon enough."

"Speaking of normal, what is next for you, school-wise?" Jim asked.

"I'm applying for a post-graduate fellowship," Sandburg explained as they exited the building. "And I think I've got a good chance of getting it, too. That'll keep me going for another two, maybe three years."

"Hey, I wanted to warn you, Simon, Joel, Brown, Rafe, and some of the other guys are throwing you a party tonight, so don't drink too much."

"They are?" Blair asked, surprised.

"Yep. They're going to love your nightmare."

"Jim, you wouldn't dare…"

"I already dared."

"Oh, man!" Blair howled.

"They really loved the Detective Sandburg part…"

 

 The End


End file.
